Victory
by River in Egypt
Summary: Draco Malfoy scores more than one victory on the day he finally catches the snitch from Harry Potter.


_A/N: A much used trope of Draco finally winning against Harry at Quidditch, I thought I could use it to clarify the –highly charged - dynamics between Draco and Hermione. And highlight the way Draco is slowly being accepted as Hermione's partner in her group of friends and how the house lines slowly disappear after the war._

_This story is an extended part of my "Give me your pain"- Universe, but can be read on its own._

_It's an improved version of the original. I was sent through corrections and I couldn't help 'improving' the story as well. _

**Victory**

Tying the laces of his shin pad, Draco Malfoy was just sitting up when he felt the warm lips of his woman on his ear shell.

"Ready, baby?"

He reached around and pulled her further to his front so he could give her a good snog.

"As ready as I'll ever be, Granger," he said when he came up again and glanced at her gleaming eyes and lightly rosied cheeks.

"Good," she replied and attacked his lips with hers.

"Oi, get a room, you guys," came from the other side of the room.

"Why, weasel, not a fan of PDAs?" Draco snarled at Ron Weasley, who was just receiving a good-luck kiss from his woman.

Ron snorted and got up. "I'll be waiting on the pitch, Malfoy. Hurry up."

Malfoy grinned and pulled Hermione entirely on his lap. "Sure, let me just get another good-luck kiss. Three's the charm, you know."

Hermione chuckled and pulled his face closer to hers. "Go get 'em, Dragon."

"Are you setting me up against your best friends?" He grinned between snogs.

Hermione shook her head. "No. I know you can be just as good as Harry if you want to be. And I can console Harry after your win, as a friend." She paused and sent her man a smouldering look. "But you are my wizard and I want your victory party tonight in my bed room."

Draco's eye widened at the blatant invitation for hot sex from his normally rather repressed woman.

"Warm up your knickers," he growled and with a last tongue-deep snog he set her on her feet and walked out onto the pitch.

.

Sauntering on the pitch in an inherent Malfoy fashion of constrained power and controlled movements, he was greeted by a heated discussion about the advantages of the newest version of the Nimbus broom, the Nimbus 5000, while Finnegan and Thomas unpacked the Quidditch ball set.

George Weasley, the joke shop going well even without his twin brother responsible for most of the marketing gimmicks - which showed who had been the one with the ideas in the duo - had recently bought his own Firebolt now that he was able to afford it.

"The Nimbus is a tad faster, but what use is a faster broom if I can't keep it on course? I'm not stupid, you know. The Firebolt is simply the better broom."

His brother Ron - Draco barely held his eyes from rolling at the weasel's tenacity - wanted to go for the newest of the new and favoured the Nimbus 5000. Zacharias Smith had shown his newest acquisition to make everybody green with envy. It was tough luck for him that everybody was smarter than that.

"But, George," Ron whined. "Look at it. This baby is beautiful."

Draco snorted. What did the weasel know about beautiful babies, honestly? Last Draco'd seen was how Ron skirted around holding a baby as much as he could when confronted with his nephew, Bill Weasley's son; much to the chagrin and disappointment of Lavender, who had hoped to be long pregnant by now.

George shook his head.

Now, the Nimbus had its merits, for certain, Draco mused while following the discourse. He would know, he still flew his old Nimbus 2001 and it still served him well. Draco Malfoy was not above loyalty. Besides, when developing the newer version the makers had gone for matching and exceeding the speed of the Firebolt and in the process neglected the fact that more speed needed a heightened stability element. The effect was that, although able to fly faster than the Firebolt, the Nimbus developed a severe hook to the left at higher speed, which was distracting to the flyer as he had to concentrate on countering his broom's breaking away from its course. This was particularly problematic for a Seeker who relied on the ability to pay attention elsewhere.

Draco, therefore, was not at all surprised that Potter still preferred his trusted Firebolt. The same way he preferred his reliable older version of the Nimbus. Draco Malfoy would have loved to update his old broom to a Firebolt. But he still wouldn't be caught dead looking like he was imitating anything that Potter did or had.

His Nimbus 2001 was fast enough, and he knew that speed wasn't everything. Catching the Snitch very much depended on the skill of the Seeker to spot the Snitch, to stay on the broom – reliability and familiarity with your broom was essential for that - and to distract the adversary while going for the little ball. And Draco was good at distracting. Using his skill to recognize an opponent's momentum in the blink of an eye, he had always been able to make a remark that struck his counterpart in the heart; or the mind. Or lower. Wherever it counted the most.

If only he would be able to match Potter's skill in focusing and quick reaction time when spotting the Snitch. It was ridiculous how much power Potter had over his magical flying instrument, flying effortlessly. Well, he knew that Potter was in a league of his own, magically, but it was still hard to admit. Just like Hermione. That was easier to believe because he had so much time to witness her exceptional magical and intellectual skill. Heck, Hermione made up her own league by herself, with a brain of the size of hers and her magical skill.

Draco sniffed. One step at a time. He was good at distraction, he was magically powerful himself and he had a trusted broom he could fly well. Hermione's idea of a victory party deeply lodged in his conscience, he would be focused sharply like a bloody budger's knife, and that might actually get him to the Snitch on this day.

"Look, Ron, even Malfoy won't go for the newer version of the Nimbus and that should tell you something," George pressed.

"Oi, Weasley," Draco said at the unexpected slight against his usual tendency to have the newest of the new. He had matured after all.

"Sorry, Malfoy," George grinned at his teammate for the day. "Just saying. Flashy gadgets aside,..."

The Nimbus 5000 glittered like a rainbow in the sun when its rider enjoyed him- or herself. This coming from George, who was the epitome of flashiness patronage, Draco likewise failed to see the advantage of it - imagine trying to sneak somewhere in the night. Or having a tete-a-tete on it and it flashed in the night, illuminating its riders, ahem.

"… and its "pleasing" form …," George continued sneering.

The front of the broomstick reminded remotely of, erm – male anatomy. There were even two peculiar bulges about 20 cm from the tip of the handle to indicate the best position to rest your hands and to prevent slipping with your hands too far down. It gave the upper part of the handle a distinctive look of, well … you guessed it. Draco attributed it to the exuberance of the post-war time (and a closeted gay broom developer). Everything had picked up to become more colourful and conspicuous. This extended as far as edibles. Some cookies were decorated with defiles of the Dark Mark – a stag Patronus was jumping through it and dispersing it - and reruns of Voldemort's Avada spell rebounding on him. And Draco grinned remembering Hermione's blue stomach skin and lips one night after enjoying Fortescue's blueberry ice-cream. It didn't deter him at all. Her mouth was pretty in blue.

"… well, all things considered, even the old Nimbus is better than the new. And the Firebolt is better."

"Oh, I quite agree," Harry said, stroking his trusted broom lovingly.

Blaise finally intervened. "As entertaining as it is to watch you Gryffindors comparing who has the longest, the fastest and the flashiest, I thought we were here to play Quidditch?" he snarled.

"Oh, don't mind them, Blaise. Wait until they actually pull out the real things for a pissing contest and then you get to laugh fiercely." Draco couldn't help joining his friend's teasing, leaning jovially on his hovering broom. Bunch of pussy Gryffindors.

Internally, he winced and held himself back when he thought about his own Gryffindor pussy waiting for him on the bench. Blast. If he didn't watch it he would become an obedient wimp, just like the pussies in front of him here.

He sneaked a peek over to the side lines and saw Hermione's hair flying in the wind, her face set, her eyes focused on him, a small smile around her pouty mouth. Gods, he loved that mouth and what she did with it. She was able to either rib him until he exploded in frustration for not getting the verbal upper hand or administer pleasures that made him explode for other reasons.

'Focus, Draco,' he scolded himself. 'Today is the day!' He was pretty sure that he would have a hot night with Hermione no matter the outcome of the game, but he'd rather they'd both be drunk from his success than doing a pity or consolation shag.

Luna interrupted his thoughts. "Well, then, on your brooms, ladies and gentleman … ready …"

.

On the side benches of the public Quidditch pitch in Ottery St. Catchpole - disguised as a fenced-in stinky dumb for the Muggle population that even kids couldn't find an attraction for - sat Hermione with Ginny and Lavender. Ginny looked wistfully at the men and women hovering on their brooms over the pitch, but she was too pregnant to consider mounting a broom, not to mention playing. She leaned back with a sigh, surveying the by now regular light blond head in the midst of the red and dark hair. They had become quite a mixed crowd over the last year.

The teams were positioning quickly and then Luna the referee blew the whistle for the kick-off. Malfoy and Harry took higher to the air and started circling while the mix of red and dark heads went flying rather quickly back and forth to the goal posts.

"What did you tell him, Hermione?" Ginny asked after a minute of watching George swerving around Angelina. Why he as a beater had asked to be on the other team of his (almost) girlfriend, she'd never understand. Perhaps it was his last stand of trying not to fall spectacularly for the woman who had started dating his late twin brother.

But it was a lost cause Ginny conceded with a snort. Angelina had her claws stretched out, her hook sunk in and she was reeling Ginny's brother in with absolute perseveration. Ginny smiled. There were worse things than Angelina lighting George's features with a kiss or a glance. And Ginny was sure that George was no substitute for Fred, for she was pretty certain that Angelina had started dating Fred only because George hadn't asked her in the first place.

Hermione next to her grinned wolfishly. "That he better win."

Ginny snickered. "You think he's as good as Harry?"

Hermione snorted. "He can be. I want him to prove it to himself."

Ginny smirked back. "And what does he get for a reward?"

"Well, …." Hermione left the sentence hanging with a nonchalant smile.

Ginny shook her head with a smirk. Hermione and Draco Malfoy had been dating for about a year. And Ginny was pretty sure that Hermione was enjoying the physical part of their relationship immensely. There was no doubt that there was a physical part. It was well known that Malfoy was a man whose centre of gravity lay firmly between his legs, and no matter how he had gotten Hermione to play along, Ginny was sure that there was a _lot_ of playing in their relationship.

However, Hermione, being her prude self, almost never seemed to be the instigator of public PDAs, except for the tame kisses and looks and hand holding. Being so hotly pursued by such a prime male specimen would have done wonders to any woman's self-esteem, Ginny thought, and any normal woman would have shown it in the confidence about her body. But Hermione still kept somewhat mum about it. Her clothing had changed a little too be more form-fitted and of better quality but never to the point of conspicuity.

In short, apart from a better balance of her temper, which would have been equally well explained by maturity, she never gave the impression of a woman who got well laid. For her to even allude to the fact that Malfoy would receive sexual favours should he win was very untypical for Hermione, and Ginny looked a bit stunned with a quirked eyebrow.

Lavender on her other side sighed. Ginny turned to her with her lifted eyebrow.

"What, Lavender?"

"What?" Lavender said distractedly. "Oh, nothing."

"Right," Ginny snorted. "You sigh like you spilled your favourite eye make-up and want to tell me it's nothing?" Ginny shook her head again. "You have to do better than that."

"Well, given where her gaze is resting I'd say she considers the pro and cons of Quidditch leather," Hermione remarked icily.

Ginny raised an eyebrow at her sister-in-law. "Is that right, Lavender?"

Lavender had the decency to blush. "Well, …"

Hermione growled: "Or perhaps, not Quidditch leather as such but more who's wearing it."

Lavender did a sound that sounded remotely like a choked "erm" and blushed deeper, whereas Ginny was startled once again at the impetuous reaction of her usually calm and level-headed girlfriend who had gone on a year-long camping trip with two blokes and come back entirely unattached.

"Hermione?"

"Isn't it obvious, Ginny? Brooms and their quality and family and relationship biases aside, when you look up there objectively who has the best arse in leather?" Hermione growled back.

Her surprise at Hermione's crude word aside, Ginny looked. Really looked.

There was Harry, of course, but she loved his arse because it was hers. She had her hands on it each and every night. It was familiar, not too bad and HERS - in capital letters.

Then there were her brothers, George and Ron and Bill, who really were family. And given that the Weasley men were rather tall, their arses were rather unspectacular; even George's, who was stockier than Ron. Bill had the handsomest built of all Weasleys but fell short in the arse area. Plus, brother with a wife, a new baby and a young child at home - bad thought.

Then there was Dean, whom she had dated once. But she didn't have any vivid memory of his behind, so that was that. Seamus had an Irish stocky built with a nicely rounded behind for a good grip if one liked that, so, hm.

Terry Boot was as lanky as her brothers with an equal built in the behind department, and Zacharias Smith was Smith and nobody paid any attention to his physical attributes because no girl stayed close long enough to be able to look properly. Pompous arse. Different kind of arse, though. Ginny smirked.

And then there were the Slytherins. She had never considered them, because well, they were Slytherin. For a Gryffindor it was likely against the code of honour to check out Slytherin arses. At least, it seemed forbidden to brag about it.

There was Goyle as one beater for the opposing team from her Harry, together with George. Goyle had come around, but he was still large. And so was his behind. Not very appetising.

Blaise Zabini, on the other hand, had a dream built with the accompanying dreamy back side, which was framed by the Quidditch chaps. But there was something to the chaps cutting into the sides that made his bum look confined and slightly bulging. When he was in regular trousers a girl could swoon from looking alone. Lucky Pansy, who was resting at home with her likewise pregnant belly.

In normal trousers Blaise had a similar built to, and that's were her glance fell last, Draco Malfoy - of course. Ginny's eyebrow went up appreciatively and she pouted her lips. Hermione saw where she finally looked and growled again.

"Told you," she snarled, and Lavender sighed again.

True. Draco Malfoy had by far the best arse in Quidditch leather. Bent forward on the broom, the cheeks peaked just the right way between the leather chaps. Framed to bring out their full form, the dimple just visible through the Quidditch trousers, Ginny felt her fingers twitch, imaging how she would put her fingers right there before stroking lower and …

Ginny shook her head. Ginny Potter, she scolded herself. Get your mind out of the gutter doing unimaginable things with Malfoy's behind of all of them. Plus, he was Hermione's. Their wedding was set for next month. She didn't really envy Hermione her stud. She figured it wasn't easy to be with Malfoy, so bully to Hermione. But the fact that his physical attributes beat all other males on the pitch irked Ginny a little.

"Congratulation," she said drily to her bushy-haired girlfriend. "You won."

She received a grunt as a way of an answer; and then a snicker. "I did, didn't I?"

"Yes," Ginny snarled back grumpily. "You did."

Hermione relaxed for the first time all day; as if the fact that Malfoy's body parts were superior to her other friends' parts had calmed her. Usually tight and jumpy, she had been particular tense all day, seemingly bothered by something. Ginny attributed it to the pressure of her wizard trying to get the Snitch from Harry. Hermione was competitive and it spread to her wizard as well. Not that Malfoy didn't want it for himself. Ginny mentally snorted. Good luck with that, she thought. If the first 15 times you don't succeed …

Feeling indeed empowered by the fact that the best arse man on the pitch belonged to her, Hermione put her hands behind her head and leaned back in her seat. She rested her head against the backrest and stretched her legs out in front of her, which effectively pushed her torso out. Hermione wasn't generously built in the breast department, just normal sized, but when she pushed them out like this, one realized how tight her T-shirt of the day really was. Ginny ogled and felt Lavender next to her turn a stunned look as well.

"Hermione!" they both exclaimed. "What are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" Hermione gave back innocently with a quick side glance. "I'm stretching."

"But not like this," Lavender screeched.

She couldn't have done worse. Her screech attracted the eyes of the players to the side lines, distracting them from the game. And there wasn't a one who didn't do a double take at Hermione Granger putting her boobs on full display. Well, to be honest, Angelina and Katie Bell did a quick glance and shrug, grabbed the Quaffle and scored a goal each before the males had recovered.

When all males had shaken their heads to clear their minds and turned back to the game, Hermione started whistling "Hold on, hold on to the dream, now, now, hold on and believe, now, we already one, we still hold on, hold on", while moving her torso in the rhythm, which made her boobs jiggle a little.

This got her the full attention again. Ginny's and Lavender's mouth flapped open, staring at their usually rather prude friend, as did many of the males flying over the pitch. Malfoy was the only one who clenched his jaw and looked at Hermione with much narrowed eyes. And then she did the unthinkable: she winked at him and took one of her locks and twirled it around her finger while she moved her hips to her whistling rhythm.

Malfoy's mouth fell open and his eyes widened when he realized she was doing it for him. After a second of shock, the realisation hit him and he wheeled his broom around and sped off in pursuit of the hot commodity of the Snitch while everybody else was distracted; and before Angelina and Katie scored enough goals while snickering and throwing the Quaffle back and forth to render a Snitch catch worthless for the other team.

It took another few seconds before the other male players realized what they were doing. Blaise as the cool-headed Slytherin was the first to recover. He went smoothly between Angelina and Katie to intercept a throw and take it to the opposing goal where he scored the first goal for his team. Angelina and Katie let him because they were still laughing so hard and they had quite a lead. They made a mental note to send Hermione a nice new book as a little gift.

And then it happened. Looking back on a turn at his unexpectedly sexy in public fiancée Draco saw it, the golden blink that indicated his dream. The Snitch was hovering over the grass of the pitch, right below where Hermione and the other girls sat.

He calculated quickly how to best get to it without alerting Harry Maddening Potter. Potter came his way with his face set in a frown. His angry thoughts over being so distracted by his best friend's globes - of all people, who would have known that she had those, for crying out loud - were clearly written in his face. Potter couldn't have seen the Snitch yet because he was looking in the other direction. Draco decided not to make him aware by racing helter-skelter toward the trophy. After all, if it came to an open match of speed against speed, Potter was sure to win.

And so he made his way closer to Hermione sitting on the bench, not in an awful hurry but not slowly either, as if he just wanted to throw her a kiss and continue on his way. This was a friendly game after all. But as he flew closer to do just that, the Weaselette – Potterette, he reminded himself - called his ruse and screeched "Harry" for all to hear. Darn, she had must have seen it. She had been a Seeker as well, for some time.

Draco sped up to build on his lead. Nevertheless Potter gained on him, now that he had reacted like lightning as he was prone to do.

When Potter pulled even with him and there were still twenty yards separating them from their goal, Draco dug out his inner Slytherin once more and yelled to his competitor: "Like Hermione's tits, Potter? Who do you think gets to suck on them tonight?"

Draco was more than pleased to see that Harry lost his drive in shock for the tiniest moment. He did a swerve that pushed Harry off-course, and lay flat down on his Nimbus to gain more speed on the last ten yards; so close, darn, so close.

He heard Hermione yell, standing on her bench and jumping up and down: "Go, Draco, go, go, go, go, go, go, baby, go, go gogogogogogogoooooooo" with Ginny and Lavender screaming at her side.

Draco knew he'd never had so much drive in all his life. It had always been so pointless until now when his woman cheered him on to do something that had only importance for him and him alone. Urging his broom forward like he'd never done before, he felt Potter back at his side but on the wrong side for the little golden treasure. It still hovered right there, flitting left and right in a teasing motion. They were too low for Potter to change on Draco's other side or fly upside down below him, a manoeuvre that he had once done and stunned everybody with, including Draco. This time, no daring stunt could give Potter any advantage. It took his breath when the realization hit him again. The price was his. He had outflown the hero of the Wizarding world.

And then Draco stretched out his hand and closed it around the cool metal and the tiny wings fluttering against the inside of his hand, and he felt his chest explode at the enormity of what happened. He pulled up with the last strain of coherent thought so he wouldn't crash to the ground with lightning speed.

Flying straight up into the sun, he heard several screams piercing the air and realized that one of them was his.

Several things happened at once: Luna's whistle blew and Blaise crashed into him to pull him into a tight bear hug, yelling and laughing at the same time: "You did it, Draco. Salazar's dangling bits, you did it."

"George's team wins with 160 to 90; Malfoy caught the Snitch." Luna's Sonorus voice sounded over the pitch and Draco heard several more screams, some in anger, some laughing, some in pure exhilaration.

Looking in the dark face of his laughing friend with Goyle and George and Boot coming over his way as well, Draco thought there was only one face he wanted to see, right this moment.

He turned to the ground in his friend's embrace. There she was still jumping on her bench, screaming her head off and dancing in a circle, swinging her hips, throwing her arms up, and laughing like crazy.

He pulled his broom around, and said, "I'll be back" monotonously before he flew toward the ground.

"Sure." He still heard Blaise laughing behind him. "Smooch her from me as well. That was some stunt she pulled. You are one lucky prick, you know that, don't you?"

Draco flew in one straight line down to the women on the benches and stopped his broom right in front of Hermione, who stilled only when Ginny pulled on her sleeve and turned her around.

Breathless she stood in front of him, her face beaming, triumph, success and a deep seated happiness emanating from her. And he was the cause. It tightened his chest again as if something had exploded and pushed everything else to the side. And then he pulled her to him and kissed her deeply in front of their friends. Well, kissing was a little understated. He captured her mouth, and pulled it to him, still sitting astride his broom hovering in front of her. He pulled her up with him and snogged her, tongues and all, until the wolf whistles started behind them.

"Get a room," Ron yelled from above again. "Uh-oh" and "Ahh", more whistles and exasperated laughter was heard all over the pitch and next to them from the benches.

When Draco let go and put Hermione gently to her feet again he still saw the same happiness in her eyes. "You did it!" she whispered. "I'm so proud of you!"

He chuckled. "Yeah, well, your little distraction helped."

She snickered and blushed. "But it wasn't my flying that caught the Snitch."

"True," he said. And then he extended his hand, which still held the tiny winged ball, out to her. "For you. You deserve it."

She grinned again and fell around his neck. "We deserve it," she whispered in his ear.

.

**Later**

Rutting against the back of the entrance door of their cottage, Draco came in two minutes flat, panting against Hermione's throat. He groaned deeply when he squirted into her warm depth, and thought that this one was for him, plain and simple. He would make it up to her later.

"What? That was it?" she snickered, catching on to his private thoughts likely by seeing his facial expression she knew so well by then.

Still catching his breath, he snorted. "You know me better than that. This was just the excess tension from you winking at me at the game. I'm starting to warm up now."

She grinned. "Ah, I'm glad it had such an effect, my winking."

"Your bum swinging from one side to the other didn't hurt either."

"And what else did you observe, oh, Grand Snitch Snatcher?"

"I noticed how big your boobs are when you push them out like you did. I and the rest of the males on the pitch," he smirked and pushed his groin harder against her.

She hummed quietly.

"And do you want to know how I put Potter off track?"

Hermione huffed. "I can imagine. Something to do with my display?"

He grinned. "Nobody could ever say you weren't a smart girl, Granger."

She pursed her lips. "You know, for somebody who's such a fan of and an expert on my … female attributes you are disappointingly unobservant."

Draco looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Weeeell," Hermione stalled. "What could possibly be the reason for my bust being bigger than its usual size?"

"What?" Draco said and immediately put his hands over her breasts to feel their size. He didn't feel much difference. Perhaps they were a bit heavier than usual, but girls had fluctuations of such things, didn't they? "Are they actually bigger than usual? Did you do an engorgement charm? Did Pansy put you up to it? Or Lavender Brown?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, nothing intentional. More of a side effect."

"Side effect?" Draco started to look annoyed. He understood nil and he didn't like this feeling at all.

"Hmhm." Hermione nodded. "Side effect."

"Side effect to what?" Draco snarled. "Spit it out, Granger. Did you gain weight? I usually don't care, you are skinny enough, but watch it at least until next month. Your spectacular wedding dress cannot be changed overnight."

Hermione laughed. "Oh, it will have to be changed, that's for sure. And not only on the bust. Good thing we already have the wedding set."

When Draco looked like he would snap at her if she kept playing her evasion game, she snickered and pulled his head down to whisper in his ear:

"My period is a week overdue. I did a test spell this morning."

"Overdue? Test?" The Galleon clickered through in Knuts.

Hermione looked at him expectantly with raised eyebrows. And then the Galleon was full.

"You are…? Are you…?" He couldn't finish his sentence. His mouth was entirely too dry. And it didn't help that he couldn't close it either. Entirely un-Malfoyish. Get a grip, Draco.

She nodded. "Yes, I thought, it's been over a year since we said we'd wait. I've become a bit lenient with my spell casting. We weren't really working towards it because of the wedding, but I didn't really think it wrong … and then it happened quicker than I thought it would. Are you mad? Did you want to make the decision together? Did you want to wait till after the wedding? Did you want to be involved from the very beginning? I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking, … ." Hermione started babbling when she saw him staring open-mouthed, obviously in shock.

That pulled him out of it. Pregnant. Hermione was expecting. He was going to be a father.

"Am I mad? What do you think? Of course, I'm mad," he growled and lifted her up when her face fell in upset.

"Madly in love with you," he whispered before he shut his and her mouth with both his lips.

When they had to take a breath, she put another few words in. He could tell they had been weighing on her conscience since this morning. A few hours were a long time for a busy brain as Hermione Granger's, soon-to-be Malfoy.

"I can tell you exactly when it happened, you remember when we went to visit your mother and you wanted to show me the duck pond, way back in the Manor Gardens, and on the grass there … ." She continued in a rush.

"I still have to go see a healer and have it confirmed, but all spells and signs speak for it. I'm pretty sure. I can already see the signs, the tense boobs, aversion to smells, the greasy eggs this morning, I was ready to throw up, easy exhaustion… . And don't get too excited until I passed the first trimester; anything can happen before that; I could lose the foetus and … ."

"Shut up, Granger," Draco growled. "You will not. You will be healthy and glowing as the sun and make all our friends jealous because you will be the most beautiful pregnant woman ever. A Malfoy bride is bound to be the most beautiful. And then you will bear our son who will be the most beautiful baby in the whole world, apart from my own self as a baby, and the only question I have is … can we still do the deed?"

Hermione tittered, strained from the tension. "We just did, remember? And yes, we can. It will not hurt the foetus."

Draco kissed her deeply. "Baby. It won't hurt the baby. Our baby. Get used to it. It's our son in there." He put his hand over her still taut stomach and then he kissed her some more.

"How do you know?" Hermione asked, surfacing and freeing herself from his lips' attack.

"Because Malfoy first borns are always sons. If they are lucky to have more children, which is rare, there is a chance of having girls. But the first born is always a son. Genetic marker to ensure the name is carried on. Many old families have it and that is one of the reasons why purebloods are dying out. If a couple can only make girls, they won't have any children." He explained this while smothering his witch with kisses all over her face, her neck, her throat, her hands, fingers, wrists, and so on. He couldn't stop. He already felt the blood surging through him again, and not only in one particular place. This day was exhilarating, not to say heady.

Remembering something from catching the Snitch, he chuckled: "Now I know why you called me "baby" out on the pitch when you urged me on. And in the change room. You've never called me "baby" before. You are already preoccupied with it."

She tittered again. "I suppose."

Then she smirked. "Care to distract me?"

He smirked back. "In a minute. I just have to look at the date."

Hermione frowned. "What? Now? Why do you need to look for today's date?"

He narrowed his eyes at her and pierced her with a fierce glance.

"To mark it as the day that put Draco Malfoy back on the map. Catching the Snitch out from Harry Potter _and_ being told that I will be a father – it can't get much better than that. My personal day of victory!"

Hermione grinned. "And you already won the best arse in Quidditch leather competition – without knowing that you took part."

Draco looked a little disconcerted. "Which competition?"

Hermione snickered. "Well, our panel of three onlookers decided unanimously that you have the best behind in Quidditch leather. We had nothing else to do, sitting down there and looking up." She grinned cheekily.

"Three times is the charm. And aren't you proud that it belongs to you, this prized behind in leather?" Draco smirked.

"Ginny said I won, so it's a double victory. And it kicked off my languorous stretching, so, you could say that." Hermione grinned back.

There was a glint in Draco's stone grey eyes, and Hermione liked it a lot. It went all the way down to where it counted the most because it promised more to come. "So, basically my backside in leather is responsible for me catching the snitch?"

Hermione nodded grinning. "That and your flying. You are so talented," she teased. "Care to show the other area you are so talented in?" Hermione nudged a little impatient by now. She bumped her hip into his groin but to no avail.

Draco looked far away and stretched his arms to the sides, index and middle fingers spread in a V. "I beat Harry Potter not only to the Snitch but also in a competition of looks. Not that I'm surprised, but … did the Potterette also say my arse was better?"

Hermione nodded. "Unanimously, remember?"

Draco grinned evilly. "Oh, I can't wait to rub it in, next time."

Hermione didn't want to think about the potential conflict coming on when they met her – their - friends next time and tried to get him back to the topic at hand: "Perhaps you could use your victorious fingers to rub something else now. Or you could scale the new – higher - heights of my chest. So far the victory party is not very exciting for me. Didn't you say you were just warming up?"

He grinned at his sexy, smart-mouthed fiancée. "How about a victory lap dance?"

"Around the column?"

Draco chuckled. "Yes, by all means. I want you all around the victory column, so that I can _score_ again and again, until you knock me out."

Draco Malfoy felt that he had hit the jackpot in life. After erroneous beginnings of much anger and suppression from his parents, forcing him into an unsuitable direction, he had found his salvation in the form of a woman, which suited him perfectly. He had a thing for women. And for this one in particular. And _her_ forms. Shape. Constitution. And her mouth. Whatever.

And he certainly had a thing for her closeted - for him and him alone - explosive sexuality that required intellect and verbal exchanges, which suited him even more; he had a thing that stood up proudly erect in light of all his triumphs of the day and the fact that she wanted it sheathed in her. Badly. Score!

Who said victories couldn't be paraded into the bedroom?

.

_A/N: The song Hermione is whistling is "Hold on" by Sean Paul. It just was on the radio while I wrote this and I thought parts of the lyrics were rather fitting._

_In the GMYP universe, it falls about a year after the last Epilogue conversation, and, naturally before the Post-Epilogue. I didn't pay extra attention to the actual canon timelines Post-Hogwarts, who married whom when and was pregnant when, just roughly._


End file.
